Hattila & Winston
by Mythyra Mystic
Summary: A dog shows up at Hannibal's door... Well, not a dog... More of a monster really.


At five o'clock Monday morning, Hannibal pulls off his Egyptian cotton sheets and down comforter, climbs from his queen-sized bed, and meanders towards the bathroom. At five eleven he finishes his shower, wraps one of his large, fluffy towels around his waist, and picks up his toothbrush. At five thirteen he's brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and applied lotion to his hands. Since this is complete, he wanders back into his lavish bedroom on his way towards his walk-in closet on the other side of the room. At five fourteen he opens the double doors and pulls the towel from his waist, allowing it to drape over the handle of the door while he gets dressed. First, he climbs into a pair of briefs, preferably dark blue or red but occasionally black or forest green. Then, he chooses an undershirt- as is most common; a white cotton t-shirt. He picks a shirt from the rack, today it will be a light forest green with hair thin vertical strips of white and pearl white buttons along the front and cuffs. Afterwards, he chooses his slacks; crème because it elegantly blends with the green. His tie and socks match; dark blue- in a color not unlike William Graham's eyes- although his socks have a plaid pattern of faint maroon and pale blue. He foregoes the sweater vest today as it isn't cold in July and he does not wish to overheat in it. Finally, to complete the ensemble, he shrugs into a suit jacket; a darker blue than his tie and more of a navy than anything else, and he becomes a very well-put-together man of the high society. At five twenty he travels downstairs, cutting through his kitchen to put the kettle on before he heads through the dining and living rooms separately to the front door. At five twenty one he pulls open one of the double doors to retrieve his newspaper to read while he eats breakfast.

At five twenty one and one second, he finds a large, hairy monstrosity parked out on his front porch like huge furry mountain. At five twenty one and two seconds the door to Hannibal Lector's mansion slams shut again.

To the casual observer, the good doctor might not seem to have been unnerved by the large fiend outside; his calm, elegant expression of consideration and acknowledgement certainly hadn't taken any damage. In fact, outwardly, Dr. Lector appeared as smoothly casual as ever. However, a trained eye might have picked up a few minute but notable changes; such as the tension in Hannibal's clenched jaw or the way a vein jumped in his temple. Perhaps the way his hands tightened into fists or the way his eyes focused intently onto the grain of his oak doors was telling. Or perhaps it was the deep, measured breaths he drew in, held, and exhaled every thirty seconds.

Hannibal's lips parted and he blew out a quiet breath. The next intake helped his mind to finish cataloguing the facts he'd witnessed. It was a dog, a large dog of course, but a dog nonetheless. There were two options here; one, William was somewhere nearby- though, judging by the lack of collar or leash that would have indicated ownership and the fact that William had failed to even knock yet, Hannibal did not think that was the case here. Or two; it was a stray that had wandered off and gotten lost, or had been abandoned and left to fend for itself. Somehow it had wandered onto his property and perhaps thought his porch a decent place to settled in for the night- or had mistaken his porch for their own home and had taken up residence thinking its owners were just inside and it merely had to wait for them to open the door.

The man leaned to the right, pulling back the curtain covering the long windows on either side of his door to peer at the infernal creature. It had its back to him and appeared generally at ease but Hannibal, of all people, knew looks could be deceiving. It was a large thing; the top of its head coming up to his elbow, and covered in thick, long black fur that looked relatively well kept, though a tangle of leaves and sticks had become entrapped within it. Nothing a decent bath and a sturdy brush couldn't fix but definitely nothing William would have allowed his dogs to walk around with. So, definitely not Will's then. The dog looked out across Hannibal's front yard; motionless save for an occasional twitch that turned its ears towards something the human could not hear.

Even worse than the fact that a giant mass of hair and teeth had taken up resident on his front porch however, was the fact that, from the window, the psychiatrist could just make out the corner of his newspaper poking out from underneath the furry creature's large backside; a sliver of grayish paper underneath hairy black. Hannibal's eyes narrowed and his mouth drew into a tight line; as if he'd just met the rudest person in the whole world rather than a simply large specimen of the family _lupus_.

With an exasperated sigh and hands that were a bit too shaky for comfort he withdrew his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket and pressed 2. Instantly, the name William Graham lit up the screen like a beacon of hope. Hannibal brought the device up to his ear and returned his maroon eyes to the beast outside, giving it a hardy glare.

"You have reached the voicemail of-" The mechanical female's voice rang out, irritating the cannibalistic murderer. "Will Graham," Said a deeper voice, _Will's_ voice; its distracted baritone lilt instantly recognized by the maroon-eyed man before it was interrupted again by the robotic tones. "-Is unavailable at the moment. Please leave a message at the tone." A loud beep echoed through the phone, making Hannibal's lips pull down into a frown.

"William, it is Dr. Lector," He said neatly, keeping his voice short and curt, eyes never leaving the back of the animal's head. "Please, call me back as soon as possible, thank you." Thumbing the end call button, Hannibal tucked the device back into his pocket and sighed again.

It was possible, he reasoned, that he could chase the dog off. Many creatures felt intimidated by large presences in unfamiliar surroundings, and besides, if the beast knew it was at the wrong location it might wander off again and find its way home. Hannibal hummed, thoughtfully, his dark eyes glaring holes into the back of the dog's head. With a half nod he reached for the door again, determined not to be skittish of the canine.

Though not well known, Hannibal Lector had always had an uneasy regard for canines of any kind. A traumatic childhood attack had left him suspicious of all members of the canine family. B. W. (before Will) whenever he'd encountered a dog, Hannibal had felt the scars along the back of his neck and shoulders pull uncomfortably and sweat break out in the palms of his hands. With William's... collection of canines, Hannibal had gotten somewhat used to the friendly, furry community of man's best friends. All of Will's pets were remarkably well-trained and behaved; despite their owner's skittish attention and mannerism... or perhaps because of it. William took good care of his 'children', showered them with love and attention, and connected with them on ways he couldn't do with humans. Whatever the reason for their behavior, Will's dogs had brought Hannibal around to the thinking that perhaps not all canines were deadly. However, the psychiatrist knew enough not to assume that all dogs were as well-trained and friendly as the consultant's were.

With that in mind, Hannibal opened the door cautiously, making sure it was wide enough that he could slip back inside without stumbling but closed enough that he could slam it shut at any moment. The dog made no move to notice him other than to flick a long, rounded ear towards the noise of the opening door.

"You," Hannibal waved a hand at the beast and frowned at it. "Shoo, go away." He tried in his deepest, most commanding voice. The dog ignored him. "Shoo!" He tried again, raising his voice and clapping his hands to startle the creature. The dog ignored him. "I said shoo!" He commanded, pointing towards the driveway to indicate which direction the animal needed to go.

The dog tilted its head back to look at him.

Now, when I say that, I don't mean that it glanced over its shoulder and looked at him as any other dog would. No, I mean to say that it _slowly_ tilted its head up and _back_ to look at him upside down as if it couldn't be bothered to turn its body like a _proper normal dog_ would have done. Rather than waste all that unnecessary effort turning to look over its shoulder at the minor interruption of the clapping, shouting man it simply pulled its neck into a most unnatural position and held it there; staring at the man in the door with large, bored looking yellow eyes. Very slowly, its mouth curled open on one side and a twin pair of fangs slid out from the left side of its mouth, poking from the lower jaw in a clear threat.

Now, it was alarming enough to be threatened by a dog- even in such a bored, lazy manner. (It is understood by even the most simple-minded that when a dog pulls back its lip, even just a bit, it is intended as a threat. No matter how many teeth are showing.) More alarming of course is the fact that the dog threatening him was large and, clearly, possessed because no dog in healthy, or at least un-demonic, condition could tilt its head 180 degrees in _reverse_! Less alarming but no less important, is the fact that the creature in question looked rather... wolfish. With a broad, pointed muzzle- most likely filled with large teeth- a large head and large, sharply rounded ears the canine looked to largely consist of a wolf breed of some kind. Although, Hannibal was by no means a canine expert and couldn't rightly say for certain.

He cleared his suddenly hoarse throat and tried an expression of indignant anger out on the creature. "Shoo!" He declared loudly, clapping his hands again and waving them towards the monster. For his efforts, a low growl emanated from the throat of the beast; deep and heavy in the early morning air. Hannibal quickly stepped back inside, shutting and locking the door with the hurry of a man who would not be intimidated by such a thing but didn't want to take any chances. He cast a quick glare out the side window, finding that the animal- most likely feral- had tipped its head back up enough to look back out over the well-kept lawn and driveway.

Mind turning viciously, Hannibal pulled out his phone and dialed Will again. If anyone could talk such a vile, disruptive creature off his front porch it would certainly be the animal talker himself. And, although he briefly considered simply calling Animal Control, Hannibal ended up listening to William's voicemail again and thinking that the consultant would probably murder him in his sleep if the brunette were to discover he had allowed those 'cretins' to take hold of an 'innocent' dog- even one such as that thing outside. With a heavy sigh, Hannibal left a quick, to-the-point message that the blue-eyed man would hopefully get to _today_ and slipped away from his front door.

The man wandered back to his kitchen, pulling the steaming kettle off his stove and pouring himself a cup of mint tea- mostly to soothe his frazzled nerves than anything else. The smell helped him think out his possibilities. He could sneak out the back door... only, his car was parked out front in the driveway and he had no way of telling if the creature would attack him or not. It hadn't when he'd opened the door but, perhaps that was because he'd been close to the door and not out in the open. If he were out in the open in such a manner, could he outrun such a monster? No, most likely not. While he was of an athletic build, Hannibal had never been one for speed unless it was in short bursts and, unless he could make it to a tall enough tree first, the canine would most likely catch him easily enough. Hannibal couldn't think of a single tree within a hundred yards of his driveway- he would have to remedy that next chance he got should anything like this happen again. He could call Jack and have the man bring a gun to scare the animal away... No, his pride wouldn't allow him to stoop as low as to ask _that man_ for any kind of assistance- let alone trust him with the knowledge that Hannibal couldn't handle this on his own for fear of the large canine. No, it was better for everyone if Jack was left out of this. Which lead him back to Animal Control or William and, since William was essentially the only individual capable of sneaking up on him and could wield a knife most excellently, Hannibal tossed out Animal Control. He preferred all his bits _exactly_ where they were, thank you very much.

Six o'clock; another phone call to William and Hannibal couldn't help but groan in dismay. At this point, knowing the other man as well as he did, the maroon-eyed man knew Will was on a case. A case that would probably take only heavens knew how long to solve while _he_ was stuck in this unfortunate turn of events with a monstrous- not to mention _rude_\- creature outside most likely waiting to devour him whole- and while he entertains the thought that perhaps the 'wolf' at his door could be a sign of something, he quickly shakes the idea of because, to be perfectly honest, it's far too grim for this early in the morning.

A twisting feeling in his stomach and a low grumble reminds the doctor that he has yet to eat and, since he's not going anywhere and isn't able to read his newspaper, he resides himself into making a miserable breakfast.

At six thirty, Hannibal goes back to check on his front door. Unfortunately, it is still adamantly guarded by that hairy mongrel, although, now it has taken up the position of lying on his newspaper rather than sitting on it. He has no doubt that it is completely unreadable by now; probably crinkled within an inch of its life and covered with dirt, mud, and dog hair. There is no way it's coming into his house. The paper of course, not the dog; there was never any question that the dog wasn't coming into his house.

After giving the beast a hardy glare- and really, he's starting to practice glaring now because of this creature- Hannibal resigns himself to the study to catch up on some papers and reading, only halfheartedly grateful that he doesn't have any appointments for today.

At twelve forty-five, the well-dressed European takes a break from his readings, laying down his glasses atop his desk and meandering his way into the kitchen for a drink. Poking his head into the refrigerator Hannibal chuckles to himself, this is the most relaxing day he's had yet. He actually owes that pesky beast outside his door for being able to relax for once in what feels like months. Despite hating the infernal thing for _locking him inside his own house_ Hannibal owes it for his productivity and sense of restfulness.

He's leaning back against the kitchen sink, thinking about the dog, when it occurs to him to check on it. After all, it has been more than six hours since he retreated into his library, the thing could have wandered off by now. Hope makes his steps light as he crosses through the dining room, setting his glass of orange juice down on the table before continuing on towards the front door. Once there, he tugs aside the curtains.

Of course, since he had expected the canine to have wandered off, he is sadly disappointed; it's still there; lying on his front porch in what little shade the midday has offered unto it. The late July sun is no doubt baking the thing as it lies on his porch, looking as if it had given up after wriggling up against his front door in an attempt to escape the sun's rays. Hannibal frowns at it, his maroon eyes narrowing with disgust and distaste and his lips pulling into a thin, downward line. Pulling out his phone, he thumbs two.

"William," He snaps just after hearing the tone. "It won't go away. If you do not come down here and get _rid _of the infernal thing I _will_ call Animal Control. You have been warned." He snaps the phone shut and watches the dog.

Its breathing is rough and its tongue is lolling against the white wood of his porch. From the look of it, the creature past the point of dehydration some time ago and was now simply suffering in silence.

To his dying day Hannibal will forever blame what happened next on one William Graham. If it weren't for that insufferable man with his mousy black hair, his jittery mannerism, and animal lover ways, Hannibal would have been perfectly content to let it suffer away. However, he did meet the blue-eyed consultant and, as a result, a sense of compassion for animals has been rubbed off on him. He rather enjoys the company of William's dog now and, because of it, he simply cannot allow himself to walk away from the pest and let it continue suffering.

With a weary sigh- and really, it's like he's practicing glaring _and_ sighing by this point- Hannibal goes to retrieve a bowl of water for the poor thing.

At twelve forty-seven, large metal bowl of water in hand, the psychiatrist opens his door as gently as possible, trying not to disturb the large canine lying before it. He keeps an eye on the creature- who he notes is also keeping a keen eye on _him_ as well- while he lays the bowl down beside it. While reaching over it the canine lifts its head, clearly suspicious of his activities and presence. There's a long, tense moment where neither move; Hannibal due to childhood fear dredging up and an intense urge to watch the thing very closely just in case it decided _to rip his face off_ and the dog because this strange man was doing strange things very close by and was obviously up to something.

With a very quiet tick of metal coming to rest against wood, the man sets the water down and slowly withdraws his hand, bringing himself up out of the crouch and taking a slow, large step back across the threshold of his door.

Hannibal watches for a moment as the dog leans back and sniffs the bowl, eying him carefully with its large yellow eyes. As if to test the water it takes a small lick of it, drawing a bit of the liquid up into its mouth with a long, wide pink tongue with the width of his wrist and the length of his entire hand. The dog pauses, as if it's waiting to see any kind of side effects the water might have.

Satisfied with the results of its investigation it leans back in again, the heavy tongue lapping up the water with all the enthusiasm the large, slow-moving dog seemed to be able to dredge up. Water splattered up and over the sides of the bowl, making Hannibal wince when it came down upon his pristine front porch.

However, despite the shudder that tickled his spine at the sight of such messiness, Hannibal allowed himself to smile at the deep, heavy drinks the beast took up to quench its thirst. No doubt, William would be very happy to learn that he was trying to take care of the creature in the man's absence.

And speaking of the man, Hannibal pulled out his phone to call upon him again. Stepping away from the door he turned round and wandered into the dining room to retrieve his own drink while pressing his touch screen. The line rang and rang until the all too familiar click resounded and the automotive voice told him that William was still unavailable.

"William, it is Dr. Lector, I have given it water. Rest assured that it is good hands until you come to collect it." He allowed himself to smile. "Though, I would greatly appreciate it if you could perhaps visit me at some point today and pick it up?" He asked hopefully. Turning back to the door he opened his mouth to wish Will farewell and ended up stopping short, sentence breaking off into a sharp gasp.

Standing in front of his door, very much _inside his house_, was the dog. Its massive furry bulk, equaled by long legs and large paws tipped with sharp claws, obscuring most of the outside world from view. With a curious tilt of its head it regarded the cooler surroundings with a look of heavy-lidded and begrudging acceptance.

Hannibal took a step towards it, feeling his mouth move but unaware he was making any sort of sound whatsoever. Yellow eyes snapped towards him and, though the dog made no motion to threaten him, he was stopped by the intelligent sharpness of the gold orbs. There was definitely an unnatural keenness that wasn't seen in the normal, domestic dog. That said, Hannibal couldn't help but wonder if he'd just let an actual wolf come into his house.

The dog brought its head down and sniffed at the flooring a few times before regarding him once more. Its nose twitched in the air, a sense of smell better than Hannibal's own picking out the various scents that wafted through the air conditioned house.

With little regard for Hannibal himself it turned its head and began to trot slowly towards his library.

"No, don't-" He was stopped short again in his attempt to step forward and stop the creature. "Ah, um..." The yellow eyes didn't blink. Rather they turned and the canine continued its meander through Hannibal's hallway, making its way towards his study. Though he was essentially having the internal equivalent of a panic attack, Hannibal made his movements slow and precise, following after the dog. "No, come here, stop." He murmured, trying to coerce into changing courses and following him back outside again. "Come here, good dog, follow me." The dog ignored him.

Stopping outside the door to his library the dog regarded him again, turning its head to watch him pause. The yellow eyes gleamed darkly despite the sunlight pouring in from the windows, making Hannibal swallow nervously.

He'd never been watched by a predatory creature before and, feeling that kind of heavy, calculating gaze upon him, he felt compelled to back away as slowly as possible until he was far enough away to start running. In the back of his mind, in a part that wasn't focused solely on the large beast occupying his hallway, Hannibal wondered if that wasn't what others felt when he watched them.

Pushing down on his suddenly upset stomach, Hannibal cleared his throat and gave the dog a narrowed eye glare and a stern look. "Come here, now." He commanded as sharply as he could, hoping the creature would listen. Rather than doing so however, it actually raised a brow at him! As if challenging his authority and questioning his commands in a dubious and insulting manner! Hannibal had no idea whether he should be insulted and angry that the dog was clearly disregarding him as someone who should be listened to or impressed that it could actually _raise an eyebrow_ in a very human expression of dubiousness.

The dog turned its head finally and entered the study, completely disregarding the human male in favor of seeking a darker, cooler location. With a small noise of distressed defeat, Hannibal took three steps forward before reached out a shaky hand and pulled the door closed; making sure that at least the beast was kept in one location.

He retreated back onto the porch, where the now empty bowl of water lay discarded before the door. His usually constantly-turning mind now a mushy mess of adrenaline and old memories surfacing in a battle that left him exhausted but tense. So distracted was he, that it took the fair-haired man several more moments before he realized that he still held the phone tightly against his ear.

Clearing his throat he shook his head, trying to clear the stupor currently occupying his head. "Will,' He head himself whisper hoarsely."Come quickly, please." With that, he snapped the phone shut and turned to head back inside; mind solely intent on drinking himself stiff until the images of a mouthful of teeth and mind-breaking pain cleared.


End file.
